Just Visiting
by Taelr
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is anything but normal, and his flatmate John Watson agrees wholeheartedly. But John's cousin, Kate, seems to think differently. To her, Sherlock is an open book. However, she is the one thing Sherlock cannot deduce. And just when he thinks he's starting to figure her out, things change as Jim Moriarty begins to threaten everything Sherlock never knew he loved.
1. Another Domestic

Sherlock slammed the door behind him. "John," he called loudly as he made his way up the stairs. There was no response, and John was sitting near the empty fireplace when he entered. Annoyed with his flatmate for ignoring him, Sherlock intentionally left the door open, knowing that John would be peeved.

And he was. Somehow sensing that the door was open, John turned his attention to it. He looked sharply at Sherlock, a frown on his face. "Sherlock," he said, lowering his voice, "Close the damn door. There's a draft."

"There isn't," Sherlock said nonchalantly, watching out of the corner of his eye as he walked toward the kitchen, ignoring the door standing open behind him.

John's frown reached his eyes and he started to say, "We've got company," to Sherlock, who wasn't really listening, but just then Sherlock discovered the company for himself.

She was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open, gazing at its contents. Her back was to Sherlock, and at first he wasn't sure whether she knew he'd entered the kitchen or whether or not she was frightened by what she was looking at. But when she turned around, her expression was one of amusement. "You keep decapitated heads in your refrigerator," she said, crossing the room to the microwave, which she opened. "..And eyeballs in the microwave."

Sherlock watched her carefully. She didn't seem to be frightened or surprised in the slightest by what she was finding in the flat.

"Have you got mummies in the bedrooms?" she asked after a moment.

Sherlock frowned. "No," he said.

She nodded. "Thought not. I mean, John probably would have mentioned it when he told me about the heads and the eyeballs."

"Told you?" Sherlock repeated.

"Oh yes, he never stops going on about his flatmate, the—what was it? Ah, yes—the self-proclaimed high-functioning sociopath, who is also a terrible flatmate . . . and a detective."

"I'm not a terrible flatmate," Sherlock said as soon as she'd stopped speaking.

She smiled. "Of course not," she said, her voice softening. She took a few steps toward Sherlock, who suddenly felt wary of this strange woman. "I'm Kate," she said, extending a hand.

He glanced at her outstretched hand disdainfully before saying, "Sherlock Homes."

"Pleasure to meet you," Kate said.

"Is it?" Sherlock asked.

Withdrawing her hand, Kate laughed, and the quiet sound echoed around the flat.

John, out in the other room, was keeping perfectly quiet.

"Kate..?" Sherlock prodded.

"Ah, how rude of me," she said, smiling. "Katherine Watson. But everyone calls me Kate."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Watson?"

Kate opened her mouth, but just then John appeared and said, "My cousin."

"I see," said Sherlock, now more interested in the woman than he had been before. "Well, Katherine-"

"Kate," she interjected.

"-_Kate_," he acquiesced, "It's been _just_ _wonderful_ meeting you, but I've business this evening and I'm going to need John's accompaniment."

Once more, Kate opened her mouth to reply, but John was quicker. "She's staying here," he said very matter-of-factly.

Sherlock turned to him, his brows knitting together.

"She'll be here for a month, actually," John went on. "Perhaps longer, if she can stand it."

Sherlock looked at Kate, though he addressed John. "She isn't staying."

"She is."

"We didn't discuss this."

"Because I knew that you would say 'no'."

"I'm saying 'no' now."

"Well she's already here and her things have been moved to my room."

"And if she's in your room, where do _you_ plan on sleeping?"

"My god, Sherlock," John said, sounding exasperated, "We've got a damn nice couch and plenty of blankets and things. I'll be just fine."

"For a month?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, for a month_. Or more_!"

Seeing that this wasn't working as he'd like it to, Sherlock switched tactics. "What'll she do to keep herself busy when we're out?"

"She'll come with us."

"_She_ _will not_."

"She will."

"Not."

"Damn it, man!" John was shouting now, "I've got family that I'd like to spend time with!"

"Then go visit her elsewhere!" Sherlock shouted back.

"No! Besides, she's already here and-"

It was at that moment that Mrs. Hudson came in, entering through the still-open front door and crossing her arms. "Are you two having another domestic?" she asked, frowning.

"No Mrs. Hudson," John said, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes, "We were just discussing-"

But he was interrupted by Kate's laugh. "She's right you know," she said when she'd recovered, "you two fight like an old married couple."

John ignored his cousin's comment, turning to Sherlock. "She's staying," he said firmly.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, glanced at the two women, and then looked back to John. When he spoke, he growled a single word through his teeth. "Fine."

**Hey! Okay, this is my first Sherlock story. What that sentence means is: I think I know what I'm doing but I really haven't got a clue. So if you have any ideas on how I can make Sherlock/John/Mrs. Hudson/anyone more in-character, please Please PLEASE let me know! Thank you so much for reading and I'd love to hear what you thought of this. I know it's short, but I promise that the coming chapters will be much longer. ****Any suggestions/corrections you have are always welcome. Thanks again for reading! ~Taelr**


	2. Simpler Deductions

"Mr. Holmes?" Kate spoke quietly.

John frowned and looked at his cousin when she spoke. "You can call him _Sherlock_."

Both of them looked up when Sherlock entered the room. "Can she?" he asked.

John looked annoyed. "She can," he said, glancing between Sherlock and Kate, "and she will."

Kate sighed, standing up and setting her book down on the couch where she'd just been seated. "Honestly, are you two like this all of the time? Or is it just when I'm around?" She strode towards the kitchen, and just before she entered it, she threw the words, "And I'll call you whatever you like. It doesn't matter to me," over her shoulder.

Turning to Sherlock, John hissed, "She's a guest."

Sherlock looked unimpressed. "Excellent observation, John."

John took a deep breath. This wasn't all _that_ bad. Sherlock did not like Kate's presence in the flat much, but he didn't seem to mind Kate herself. And she seemed to think him fascinating rather than irksome. She'd only been in the flat two days, and she'd already made herself at home, which was what John had urged her to do in spite of Sherlock's constant verbal harassment of them both.

Sherlock sat down and was doing something or other on his laptop, completely oblivious of John's annoyed glare on his back, when Kate's voice floated back to them from the kitchen.

"Sherlock!" she sounded slightly miffed.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, though his gaze never left his computer screen. The slightest smirk lifted one corner of his mouth, though; she sounded quite like John when she raised her voice. Then it occurred to Sherlock that this was the first time Kate had raised her voice since they'd met.

Sighing, Sherlock looked away from the laptop and his eyes found her, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest and a frown on her face.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at her, but her eyes were focused on John, who was across the room. "You don't think you could have at least _warned_ me that the things he keeps in there aren't always dead?!"

John stood up, turning to Sherlock. "You've put something in the refrigerator that isn't dead?" he asked, seeming alarmed.

Sherlock shrugged. "They're just mice," he said nonchalantly.

"Yes," Kate said, sounding aggravated, "and they've _just_ spoiled my appetite and my vegetables."

Sherlock shrugged once more. "They aren't going to die and decay in that drawer, if that's what's concerning you. They might freeze to death, but they won't rot for a couple of days; it's too cool in there."

Kate stared at him, seeming at a loss for whether to laugh or to cry.

John looked between the two of them, and then he marched towards the kitchen. "Sherlock," he said on his way, "I thought we agreed that dead things are allowed in the kitchen, but no _living_ ones aside from us."

"Oh, then I suppose Kate shouldn't be allowed to enter?" Sherlock mused under his breath. Kate heard what he said and raised her eyebrows at him, but he ignored her. "They're an experiment," he hissed, "And I thought you wouldn't mind; they aren't dead or rotting, like that head was . . . before Kate threw it out . . ."

Kate put her hands on her hips. "It was disgusting. And I thought you said you'd done enough observing to get the information you wanted _before_ I threw it out?"

Sherlock didn't answer. He merely cocked an eyebrow and looked past Kate and into the kitchen, where John was standing in front of the open fridge door, gaping in horror at what he had found.

"Mice, Sherlock?" he bellowed. "Why mice? _Living_ things in the refrigerator? We keep _food_ in there!" He turned around, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. "We didn't used to keep food in there," he said, sounding annoyed. "Perhaps I'd forgotten about that-"

But John wouldn't hear of it. "Forgotten?" he hissed, "You? Forgotten?" He seemed flabbergasted. Then his tone changed from questioning to one of disbelief. "You! Forgotten! Ha! Funny, Sherlock, how you can _remember_ the origins of a single drop of liquid that you find residing at a crime scene and you can link it to some other fact or clue you've _remembered_ but you forget that we keep food in our_ kitchen_ in the _refrigerator_!"

Sherlock shrugged again. "I used to live alone," he said after a moment, his tone morose. It almost sounded like he regretted the decision to get a flat with John, but of course that wasn't quite true. John might get on his nerves, but John was perhaps the closest thing that Sherlock had to a _friend_, and that was not something that he took lightly. But his thoughts were interrupted when Kate cleared her throat, bringing him back to the present dilemma of live creatures—_his_ live creatures—in the kitchen.

"Perhaps you've mentioned it before," Kate said after a moment, looking at Sherlock, "but if you never used to keep food in the refrigerator, what on earth did you eat?"

Sherlock was chuffed. His tone was one of amusement when he said, "We ate out," as he walked towards the kitchen, passing Kate.

She turned as he walked by, watching him go and following right on his heels. "All the time?" she asked. "How did you afford _that_?"

"John ate," Sherlock corrected himself. "I prefer tea or coffee most times."

Kate stopped a few steps behind when Sherlock at last slowed his pace and leaned against the counter to look at John. Sherlock expected her to seem confused or interested in why he wouldn't eat very often, but her reaction surprised him.

"Ha!" she said, loudly, causing both John and Sherlock to start in surprise. They turned and looked at her as she went on, sounding excited, "I knew it! I've only been here two days, but don't think I haven't been watching. All you've consumed since I arrived is a muffin or two and copious amounts of tea. You rarely eat. Why? Have you got indigestion?"

Sherlock stared at her. John stared, too, though he looked even more surprised than his flatmate. Sherlock opened his mouth, but it was John who spoke first.

"My god," he said, looking and sounding alarmed as he stared at his cousin, "I don't suppose you could have told me that you're so like Sherlock?"

Kate frowned. "What on earth do you mean?"

John snorted, seeming amused. "What do I mean? You haven't been here three days and you're already observing carefully and making calculations and deductions! I've never met anyone until Sherlock who was so obsessive about careful observing and deducting things so quickly."

Kate shrugged, seeming nonplussed.

But Sherlock was still thinking about the things Kate had said about him earlier. "I just haven't much appetite most of the time," he said after a moment, staring oddly at Kate.

"What?" she asked. Sherlock knew she wasn't questioning what he'd said, but rather inquiring about the way he was looking at her.

"Nothing," he said after a moment. Then he turned on his heels and went to the fridge—which was still standing open—and plucked a clear box of small rodents out of the drawer. "I'll take these . . . elsewhere." He said before disappearing down the hall.

Kate turned to John, raising her eyebrows and silently asking what had caused Sherlock's swift departure.

John only shrugged, though he was looking at her strangely too.

There was a moment of silence, and then Kate said, "I'm sorry if I'm similar to him . . . it's not intentional, I swear-"

But John interrupted before she could finish her apology. "Sorry?" he asked. "Don't be. It's interesting to see he's not the only intensely observant person in London. And you, deducing things? It's brilliant. Especially if you can do it while still behaving like a normal person and not being as snarky and antisocial as that bastard I have for a flatmate."

Kate laughed. "Thank you," she said quietly. Then she glanced over her shoulder before leaning towards John and whispering, "Why did he look at me that way? Why did _you_?"

John shrugged. "I don't know what he's got on his mind, but I was just surprised by how similar you two are. Seems like you would get on better than you do."

Kate nodded. "Oh. Uh, thanks, I guess."

Meanwhile, Sherlock had relocated the mice to his bedroom. He would just have to purchase a cooler and some ice and keep them there. But as much as he wanted to be more concerned about the mice, he was quite preoccupied with another matter, a mystery he couldn't yet solve. And that mystery was Kate Watson.

At first glance, she seemed normal enough. About five and half feet tall, with short, brown hair and dark eyes, she hadn't seemed like anything extraordinary. When Sherlock had met her, he'd made some immediate deductions about her. Her clothes were nice, but not designer, and they were worn but well-cared-for; she was a smart shopper and a careful steward. Her fingernails were short, though it seemed due to the fact that she clipped them, not because she bit them; she wasn't nervous, but instead meticulous. Her hair was styled, though it didn't look like she'd spent much time or put very much effort into it, and she wore very little makeup; she liked to run a brush through it and be on her way, and didn't spend too much time worrying over her appearance.

But those were the simplest of deductions. Sherlock's eyes had found no hint of anything that normal people wouldn't notice about Kate, and that had bothered him. Usually he picked up things that no one else would see or care to observe, but he found nothing. He felt as though his skills of observation had been reduced to that of a _normal person's_. It was a terrible thought.

Another thing that bothered him about Kate was how easy-going she was, and how, in spite of his careful and subtle attempts to remain mysterious in her eyes, she seemed to be able to read into him as if he were an open book. She seemed capable of observing and deducing his every action, and he wondered something that had never even crossed his mind before; was it possible for someone else, for a _normal_ _person_, to get inside his head?

He tried to shake it off, but the more he thought about it, the more it obsessed him. Why could he not deduce Kate Watson as he could her cousin and everyone else he'd ever met? What was it about her that was so strange and mysterious that even he couldn't figure it out? And why did it seem so easy for her to deduce _him_?

Sighing, Sherlock returned to the main room, where John and Kate had seated themselves on the couch. John had his laptop on his knees, and Kate was lost in the book that sat in her lap. Neither of them looked up when Sherlock silently entered the room, but Kate asked, "Would you like some company when you go looking for a cooler and ice?"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks and turned, staring at her.

She didn't look up from her book.

He stared for a few more minutes, but she never looked up, though a smirk had turned up the corners of her mouth.

**And there you have it; chapter two! I hope you enjoyed it, and I would simply love to hear what you thought of it. As always, any suggestions/corrections/ideas are always welcome. Thank you all so much for reading! ~Taelr**


	3. Not Falling Far

Sherlock rolled over with a groan and promptly fell off the couch, nearly missing the coffee table with his head. The clattering of dishes coming from the kitchen must have wakened him . . . it was almost 4. Odd, he almost never fell asleep accidentally . . .

"John?"

A musical laugh came from the direction of the dish-clattering. "No, Sherlock."

He scowled. Kate.

"Where is he now?"

"The clinic. He _does_ work, you know."

Sherlock sniffed and snapped back, "Of course I know. I've been here longer." Then shut his mouth, realizing how childish that sounded. He shut it much too late, too, judging by the return of the laughter from the kitchen.

She appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. Her hair was in a messy bun and she sported athletic shorts and some silly band shirt.

All Sherlock could deduce from her was . . . what she had eaten for breakfast? He frowned. The woman confounded him.

Then she grinned. "Why are you on the floor, love?" He looked at her, confused, a moment later realizing that he _was_ on the floor. He jumped up quickly. "Experiment," he said hastily. He gave her a haughty look, then stormed out of the room.

Kate leaned against the wall, snickering to herself. This man was crazy! Well, crazy, brilliant and gorgeous . . . but that wasn't the point! She could amuse herself for hours confounding this man—the smartest man in England, and he didn't notice a bloody thing outside his own head! She giggled out loud, recalling he and John arguing over how he didn't know the earth went round the sun.

Just then, speak of the devil, John walked in the door, hanging his coat on the rack. "'Ello, darling cousin. I see you roused the genius."

She hopped over and hugged him. John always smelled nice, like wood and tea . . . and, like everything else Sherlock touched, faintly of smoke and chemicals.

"Should I make tea?"

He gave her that curt smile and nod. "That would be lovely, thanks. So where is the genius this evening?"

She did a little twirl to the cupboard, then another back to the table. "Oh, sulking in his room with his orchids. I think he offended himself by falling off of the couch."

John chuckled. "That sounds about right! I hope you two are getting along alright. He can be a bit . . . well, you know."

She brought the tea over, handing it to John and sitting down on the couch. "Yeah, I know. I don't mind it . . . I'll get him to like me somehow. You know he has an affinity for Watsons."

He laughed at her and gave her a wink. "Oh yes. God knows why!"

**Hello again! Sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I've just been terribly busy with school and Christmas and life. I haven't had any time to write! I hope you enjoy this chapter! It was actually written by my dear friend Kate, whom I met via Tumblr and who is actually the inspiration for this story and one of its main characters! I know this chapter was short, but I thought it was brilliant, and I hope you think the same. Thanks for reading! ~Taelr**


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